


woodworks

by atramento



Series: three little pigs [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: But not today, Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Canon, Treavor is a mood, headcanons, sad face, so no Corvo, someday i will write corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atramento/pseuds/atramento
Summary: Martin has to keep his hands busy; regardless of if his fellow conspirators like it or not.Fortunately for him they both appreciate it in their own way.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: three little pigs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605268
Comments: 17
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Treavor awoke to the sound once more. The same sound he had fallen asleep to mere minutes ago. Ah, but the light outside the window told him the sun was now in the course of the afternoon and he had slept more than _minutes_ on the settee.

Whrr. Whrr. Whrr. Click.

The soft sounds were punctuated by Treavor groaning as he sat up and his bones popping back into place indignantly. That is what he got for falling asleep without the support of the many pillows he found joy in amassing onto his bed.

That and not a single blanket—how did he start off so warm and end up so shivering and cold when he awoke?!

Whrr. Wrr.

It was such an oddly bright afternoon, Trevor noted. He should go outside, perhaps stretch his limbs. Try to distract himself from the implied repercussions of the largely unplanned nap he just took. Get some exercise to keep from getting any softer than he already was.

Wrr. Whrrr. Wrr. An uncertain pause Treavor felt without trying. Another soft scraping noise. Wrr. Wrr. The more it continued, the more the youngest Pendleton felt like yawning and stretching back onto the settee. No, he must resist. Plans must be drawn up and made air tight for Havelock’s approval.

Still, even it if was a nice day-- Treavor was rather sore from last night’s escapade as well. He had gone on a bender to drink out all the sudden anxiety and misery that had overcome him. No well and good reason for it either. One moment he was distantly admiring the Pub’s livelihood; the next his hands shaking as he tried to pour himself a third glass of sherry.

It did not matter now. That was then and this was today—and Treavor had to decide if he wanted to produce something helpful today or if he wanted to lay his throbbing head back onto the cushion of the settee and try to sleep more.

Whrr. Whrr. Whrr. Whrr. Whrr.

Ever soft, ever gentle. Just like the voice of the man working away in the shop, hunched over a bench no doubt. Treavor yawned. He would have to hate himself later as he curled back onto the settee for another nap.


	2. Chapter 2

Whrr. Whrr. 

The whittling was a louder sound from where Farley Havelock sat at his own desk, quill laying inert in his large hand. He had found this development more intrusive than had Treavor-- not only was it far more distracting than relaxing... but left Havelock feeling unnerved. Perhaps the constant motion kept the overseer busy-- he did not know and he did not care to find out if he did not have to. 

Still, it was irritating as hell that Martin decided now of all times to start carving. Did he not have urgent work to tend to?

Whrr. Whrr. Whrr. Whrr... Whrr... Whrr.... Whrr...

Time did not pass much longer before Havelock decided he had heard enough. He set the quill back into the ink and got up from his desk to lumber over to the workshop. Well it was _called_ the workshop-- but it was more an open space that had a few benches and scattered tools about it that Lydia had never found a place for. 

Martin was sitting on one such bench, working away at a block of wood he was starting to shape. Whrr. Whrr. Click. 

This particular click was extra rough and Martin cursed softly under his breath, shaking his hand and pulling the carving tool away from where it had jabbed him in the sinewy palm of his hand. Havelock felt some amusement that would never openly show at Martin and his apparent carelessness. "Should wear gloves." He grunted to the priest, who looked up. 

"Ah, hello Admiral." Martin exhaled, leaning up and grunting a bit when his back popped accordingly. "What brings you out here?" 

"You're making too much noise." Havelock replied, his tone slightly more dour than usual. Looking at the unfinished shaped wood in Martin's hands reminded Havelock of his own forays into the arts. He did not especially want to recall such frivolous things though-- most certainly when he too was supposed to be working on their plans. The mind wandered as it willed though, regardless of Havelock or his own personal wishes. 

_...He used to delicately place the thin slivers of wood together with small bits of whatever sticking substance he could get his hands on. It was tedious detail work till the end, when placing the crafted model ship though the mouth of the bottle._

"I did not realize woodcarving was loud." Martin remarked dryly, snapping Havelock momentarily out of his thoughts of old crafts. The priest had always had a note of rebellion in his demeanor, Havelock noted inwardly. Teague Martin was one to watch-- not unlike the delicate swells of ocean waves that later can unexpectedly become crashing, brutal tidal waves. 

"You're not carving. You're digging the blade into the wood and hoping it makes the cut you want it to." The admiral sighs, pointing at Martin's progressing handiwork. "Which is making a lot of noise." 

Martin stared at Havelock, then at his carving, then back up at Havelock. "Huh. I guess you are right Admiral. This is rather..." He holds the partially formed piece, more an uneven hunk of wood rather than any sort of decisive shape. "...abstract." 

"It is." Farley nodded. "Keep practicing." He decided this wasn't a battle worth fighting.

Maybe woodcarving helped Martin think, just like model ship crafting used to calm Farley himself. "Get some lessons. You need them." Martin could only blink up at Havelock. Was he encouraging him, in his own begrudging way? 

"....I'll look into doing so." The priest smiled as Havelock retreated back into his room within the Pub. He would just have to carve more quietly in the meantime. 


End file.
